Losing marbles, such as they are

I used to have a very good brain. I was very proud of it. Now it is only a shadow of its former self, with most of its splendor leached out by seven pregnancies.  In the ninth month of this pregnancy, I have had to dumb down my nightly sudoku puzzle to an easier level, which has been very painful. I found that I had five in a row of the toughest puzzles completely ruined, so I turned back to the previous section in defeat and humiliation. This is only one example--the usual air traffic control job of getting kids to their several activities has befuddled me of late, so Matt has had to be both brains and brawn of this operation. Good thing he's up to the task.

Still waiting and wondering on when this little person is going to show up. Of course, I haven't even reached the due date yet, so I have no business being so antsy. And yet we do get antsy, all of us, for every long second between the 38th week and the time the baby comes. My mother claims that she didn't want the baby to come on time, because she had too much to do to get ready. I don't know that I have complete confidence in her memory on this one (sorry, Mom)--"this is the time that Mommies start to get anxious," as my friend sagely put it to me the other day. The contractions keep coming, and making slow progress (due to a cranky uterus, according to the nurse practitioner).

This nurse practitioner was not my friend today. Besides accusing my uterus of being cranky, she also mentioned that having a baby at forty was practically elderly. I think she was trying to be funny, but I find I didn't laugh. She discovered that there was more cranky about me than she had originally guessed. If my brain had been up to firing off a sharp retort, you can be sure I would have given her one.